Fighting Attraction

by Sarah Castille

  “I’m sorry, but no.” Amanda’s face creases in sympathy. “What he said to us in confidence remains in confidence even after our client agreement is terminated and even if the client is…” She looks over at Ray and laughs. “Not the kind of client we want to have. We just need to focus now on finding some good, honest, paying clients.”

  I stare down at my notepad where I’ve doodled variations of Amanda’s law firm name, some modern, some retro, some traditional, and a few eclectic to match her taste for country chic. She’s a great lawyer, and she should she be attracting top-notch clients to balance out all the pro bono work she does. All these years I’ve kept quiet, just gone with the flow, afraid to step out of my comfort zone in case something tipped me back into darkness. But I’ve stepped out of my comfort zone again and again since the night I went to Club Sin. I’ve tried new things. I’ve been brave. I’ve been strong. I opened myself up to new possibilities. I even found someone who accepted me for who I was, even if I wasn’t enough for him. My heart aches for Jack, but he’s helped me see a future where I don’t need to self-harm anymore, where I can find another way to ease my pain, where I don’t have to hide who I am.

  “You could rebrand,” I suggest. “Something more appealing to the kind of clientele you are targeting. Then we could do a big marketing campaign to get the brand out there—ads, flyers, and sponsorships. That kind of thing.”

  Everyone stares at me like I’ve grown a second head, and I instantly regret speaking up. “Or not,” I say quietly. “It was just a suggestion.”

  “It’s a great suggestion.” Amanda smiles. “Do you have any ideas?”

  “I have a few design ideas.” I push the pad across the table. “I was trying out different things. I know you’re interested in doing more work with charities and the arts community, so I thought something a bit more artsy and fitting more with your love of country chic.”

  “I’m not giving up my couch for some pink chintz shit,” Ray says. “Men don’t like pink.”

  “Good to know you’re in touch with your inner caveman,” I quip.

  Ray raises an eyebrow, but his fierce expression makes me laugh. I know he’s just a pussycat inside.

  “I love these.” Amanda taps two of my designs. “They’re perfect. Why didn’t I know you were a marketing genius?”

  “It’s just something I do for fun. My mom was big into PR and marketing. She ran her own design company, and on the rare occasion she was home she used to let me sit in her office and tell me all about what she was doing and why.” I lived for those moments because it was the only way I could spend time with her, the only attention I got.

  Amanda pushes my paper across the table to Jill. “Look at the ones I’ve circled. They’re perfect for the firm. Why don’t we set up a marketing strategy meeting later this week and Penny can tell us some more about her ideas?”

  We chat about the designs for a few more minutes. Jill and Dana head back to their offices, and I hand Amanda a few documents for signatures.

  “Don’t I get to see the designs?” Ray folds his arms and huffs.

  “Technically, you’re not part of the firm,” Amanda says. “You’re an independent contractor. Also, since you don’t like pink chintz shit, I hardly think you’ll be able to give us an honest opinion.”

  “Sia doesn’t let him swear at home,” I say helpfully. “You shouldn’t let him indulge at the office. Maybe he should stand outside for five minutes and think about his behavior.”

  “Good idea.” Amanda smiles. “He can get it all out before he goes home to babysit. Shayla, Sia, and I are taking Makayla to Death’s Dungeon for some pre-baby fun. Penny, you and Cora are invited since you’re connected to the Redemption team.”

  “What the fuck?” Ray shoots out of his seat. “Sia’s not going to Death’s fucking Dungeon. That’s a death metal bar. It’s almost all men. Lowlifes who can’t get their own women.”

  “I think she has a different view on that matter,” Amanda says, her lips quivering with a smile. “And you get to spend some quality time at home with Sam. She gets a girls’ night out and you get a guys’ night in.”

  “Christ,” Ray mutters. “A man can’t even relax in his own place of work, and now I won’t be able to relax at home ’cause Sia’s gonna be out with no protection.” His eyes narrow. “Does Renegade know about this? How about Torment? Or Rampage? Or Blade Saw?”

  He must be agitated since he’s using ring names and we’re not even in the gym, but Amanda just laughs. “Of course not. And you’re not going to tell them, or you’ll find yourself out of a job.”

  “Isn’t that illegal?” Ray’s frown becomes a scowl. “I should report you for threats and violations of employment standards.”

  “People in glass houses…” She lifts an eyebrow, and Ray’s lips press together. Amanda knows what Ray did to Vetch Retch, not that she would ever tell anyone, but sometimes she likes to pull that little nugget out to keep him in line.

  “Can I tell one person?” He gives me a pointed stare. “Jack would want to know where his girl’s at.”

  “No one,” Amanda snaps, saving me from telling them I’m not Jack’s girl. Not anymore.

  * * *

  RAMPAGE

  “We need to talk.” James, my manager, stops me in Redemption’s hallway. If not for my distillery, I would be hard-pressed to pay all the people on my team. The big money doesn’t roll in for professional fighters until you start getting the big fights and the really big sponsorships.

  Four inches shorter than me, lean, and ropy, James wears his blond hair in a crew cut. I hired him because he has a reputation as a pit bull and has worked for several newbie fighters who made it to the top level.

  “I just knocked Fuzzy flat in less than sixty seconds. What is there to talk about?” Still reeling from Penny’s voice message telling me she was breaking it off because she wasn’t enough for me, I need to burn off the extra energy, not sit around having a chat. James is a four-time world lightweight champion and he knows his stuff, but five years out of the game, he’s become a corporate lapdog, and sometimes I wonder if he remembers what it feels like to be in that cage.

  “Your image.” We walk through the crowded corridor to the changing room. As always, the hallways are packed with people talking and waiting for classes, and, now that Torment has added Saturday family classes, there are also lots of energetic kids.

  “You’re good in the ring,” he says. “Fierce, ruthless, relentless. You live up to your cage name. But out of the ring, you’re too nice, and the fans are getting confused. They see you talking to your opponents, laughing with reporters, posing for selfies, and patting kids’ heads. At Redemption, you’re everybody’s friend.” He pulls out his phone and shows me a news website with a picture of me having a laugh with one of the workers who was outside Club Sin.

  “Yeah. About that…”

  “This is not the image you need to project when you’re first starting out in the pros,” James says. “You need to be Rampage in and out of the ring. You need to be storming up to the cage, knocking people out of the way like Juice Can did, going after your opponents at the weigh-ins. If you want to attract the big sponsors and make your way to the top tier, you need to build a reputation that will scare your opponents even if they’re a thousand miles away.”

  “I just want to fight a good fight.” I pull open the door to the changing room, and James follows me in, checking to make sure we’re alone.

  “That’s good. That’s what we want. But we also need you to fight a good fight out of the ring. Psych your opponents like you did when you beat up Juice Can after the fight a few weeks ago. Make them think Rampage goes through to your core, that you’re the kid who picked fights in school—”

  “I did,” I say, cutting him off.

  “That you were the badass who was kicked out of class.”

 
“I was.” Now that I think about it, I was always a disappointment to my parents, my violent streak showing through even at an early age, when I was supposed to be the perfect son, the up-and-coming next CEO of the family business. Fighting is in my blood. But maybe that’s not such a surprise. My great-grandfather immigrated from Ireland and made his money in street fights and boxing rings.

  “So what happened?” James sits on the bench as I pull open my locker. “And I don’t mean that in a bad way.”

  “I had to bury that side of myself for reasons that are none of your business, and I only let it out in the ring.” And at the club, but that’s just about the last thing I would ever share with James.

  “Let it out, or learn how to act. That’s my advice.” He tugs at the red-and-blue tie around his neck, his attempt at looking professional. “I want to see you rise to the top, but a big part of it is showmanship. You can earn six figures from sponsorships alone if you give them something to work with.”

  Christ. When I signed the pro contract, I naively thought I was signing up for the chance to fight some of the best fighters in the world. Instead, I’ve signed up to be a trick pony, not just a fighter but also a circus freak.

  “Fine. I’ll go growl at a few babies, make some kids cry, knock over a few chairs on my way out.”

  “That’s the spirit.” His phone buzzes, and he excuses himself to take a call. I pull out my phone and check my messages, although there is only one person I want to hear from—the woman for whom I turned down Sylvia and left Club Sin last night.

  “I’ve got an opportunity for you right now.” James covers the mouthpiece on his phone. “The CEO of Swish Athletics is in town. I was talking to him yesterday about sponsorship. He wants to take the brand in a new direction—give it a dangerous edge. His daughter is with him and she wants to meet you. Maybe we can set up a dinner and you can put on a bit of a show. Get into a fight in the restaurant, knock over a few chairs. Women love that kind of stuff. You could get even get lucky, and if she tells her daddy just how big and bad you are…”

  My phone buzzes with a message from Ray telling me that Penny, Sia, Makayla, and Amanda are going out to a death metal bar with a few of the female Redemption fighters tonight. He wants to know if I knew about this. How the hell is he supposed to watch his woman when he has a baby at home? And how fast can I get my ass down to the bar? I notice he has sent the message to Torment and Renegade to warn them that their women are in danger. Ray takes overprotectiveness to a whole new level.

  There is only one place I want to be. One thing I want to do. And it doesn’t involve fucking my way to greatness.

  “Sorry, James.” I grab my gym bag and tuck away my phone. “Tell her big, bad Rampage is on his way to kiss some sense into his girl tonight.”

  * * *

  PENNY

  Death’s Dungeon, San Francisco’s premier death metal bar, is hopping tonight. The last time I was here, Amanda had just started her new firm and I had just started seeing Vetch Retch. Little did I know he was reeling me in, bit by bit, waiting until I was so emotionally involved I wouldn’t run the first time he hit me.

  Shirtless male bartenders mix cocktails behind the counter, and metalheads fill almost every seat. Death metal band posters are plastered over the walls, and the air is thick with the yeasty scent of beer. We make our way through the crowd to a red vinyl booth near the back where Makayla, Sia, and Shilla a.k.a. Shayla are waiting.

  It’s been a long time since I was in a death metal bar, and the loud, heavy beat pulls me out of my funk. I haven’t stopped worrying about Jack ever since Amanda told us Gerry was no longer a client. Now that Amanda isn’t around to rein Gerry in, there is no one to stop him from carrying out his blackmail threat. Just how desperate is he to evict Club Sin? And how can I keep Jack safe?

  Except for a slight roundness of her cheeks, Sia doesn’t look like she just had a baby. Slim and pretty with long, dark hair, she is an incredible artist and her work is in high demand. I walk past her tattoo parlor every time I’m in Redemption, trying to work up the nerve to go inside. She thanks Amanda for sending Ray home and cracks us up with an impression of him complaining about women bossing him around while he lovingly cradles Sam in his arms.

  Shayla slides her cut, muscular body over to accommodate us, and Cora and I slide in beside her.

  “Help yourself.” She gestures to a tray of drinks on the table. “We started without you because we wanted to be all warmed up for the Redemption fighter bash fest.”

  Amanda laughs. “Sometimes the overbearing, protective, possessive alpha male thing gets a little too much, and we need to blow off some steam before we go home and cut our men down to size.”

  “Sex Bomb,” Shayla says, pointing to my drink as I take a sip. “Not that you need it.”

  Savoring the combined sweet-and-sour taste, I lean back in my seat and chat with Cora. After our talk at the coffee shop, she decided to be honest with Blade Saw. I’m not sure what she was thinking might happen, but, of course, he broke it off with her. Blade Saw, like most of the Redemption fighters, is not the kind of man who shares.

  “I don’t know how to get him back,” she moans. “That weekend we spent together was awesome. He actually likes sci-fi stuff, and he loved my robot shirts. He made me wear them when we had sex on the balcony, and that’s all he wanted me to wear all weekend. I can’t believe I have the longest dry spell on earth, and then I get and lose a perfect man in less than a month.”

  “He still wants you,” Shayla says, joining our conversation. “I almost knocked him out when we were training together the other night because he couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

  I sip my drink, considering. “Why don’t you get a robot shirt made with his name on it? Put his ring name on the back like you’re on his team. If he’s always watching you and he sees you in that shirt…”

  Amanda stirs her Maggot Brain, a nauseatingly green concoction that is foamy on top. “You’re good at the marketing and branding stuff. Really good. You should seriously consider doing something with that talent, maybe take some courses with a view to doing it professionally.”

  My cheeks burn, but in a good way. “I’d like to do that. I just never thought I was good enough.”

  “You are,” she says. “Never think you aren’t good enough. For anything or anyone.”

  The waitress stops by, and I order a round of whiskey from Jack’s distillery. At first I don’t tell them that Jack and Blade Saw own the distillery, but it turns out to be the worst-kept secret at Redemption, and everybody knows.

  “Hey, this is from Rampage’s and Blade Saw’s distillery.” Shayla gulps down her shot and orders another one. “Where is Rampage tonight? I’m surprised he let Penny out of his sight. The Redemption men fall hard for their women, but I never thought he would fall the hardest of all.”

  “I assume he’s at the gym.” I sip my whiskey, and the smooth, smoky taste reminds me of the night Jack poured whiskey on me and licked it off. “We kinda broke it off, so I guess he’ll be there tonight.”

  Everyone laughs.

  “Not a chance,” Sia says.

  Makayla grins. “He’ll come looking for you.”

  “He’s probably already on his way.” Amanda looks out over the dance floor. “No way could Ray keep that secret. He was probably texting everyone before we even left the office.”

  “They tend to travel in packs.” Shayla flexes her biceps. “Sometimes I go with them if they think things are gonna get really rough.”

  Over the next few hours, I drown my sorrows in too many drinks. Shayla tries to cheer me up by doing impressions of the fighters at Redemption, and Sia tells us stories about Ray and their new baby. Who would have imagined Ray would be such a good dad? Or that he would be a total pushover, picking Sam up and singing to him every time he cries? Amanda hints that she and Jake might have finally se
t a wedding date. And Makayla tells us all the different ways she has escaped from under Torment’s overprotective thumb.

  “Does he know you’re here?” Sia asks.

  “I bought a wig and caught a ride with the cleaner,” Makayla says. “I texted after I was safely away to tell him I was going out with friends. Otherwise he’d call the police and report me missing after an hour. I always turn off my phone because if I don’t he uses an app to try and track me and fills up my mailbox with ‘where are you’ messages.”

  “I collect them.” Amanda pulls out her phone. “I have a separate mailbox to store Jake’s ‘where are you’ messages. I read them when I need a laugh.”

  Now that I’ve got an alcohol-induced buzz going, I hit the dance floor with Cora and Shayla in tow, and we dance to Cannibal Corpse’s “Hammer Smashed Face,” with some hot biology majors from Berkeley. From the way they keep trying to feel us up, I figure they’re still learning about human anatomy, but Shayla isn’t in a teaching mood and abandons us to our octopus friends.

  A murmur ripples through the bar, and I sense a disturbance at the door. I work my way to the edge of the dance floor just as the crowd parts to reveal Torment stalking through the bar.

  “Uh-oh.” I give Cora a nudge. “He found her. I can’t decide if I want to keep dancing or go back to the table for the show.”

  Cora looks over, and her smile fades. “Jimmy is with him.” Her breath hitches. “And Renegade…”

  My personal octopus slithers his hands down my curves, and I wiggle against him. “There’s an advantage to being single again.”

  “And Jack,” Cora says in a rush of breath.

  Jack’s gaze locks on me. Suddenly, I don’t feel single anymore.

  “Save yourself.” I turn and push my new friend away. “Quickly. Go.”

  Moments later, I feel Jack’s heated presence behind me. He hooks one arm around my waist, the other across my ribs, and plasters me against the heat of his hard body. “Clearly, I was too soft with you,” he murmurs in my ear.